


Of(f) Balance

by charkbites



Category: Inazuma Eleven
Genre: AAA EVERYTHING IS SUTEKI DESU, AAAA OH MY OG D HOLY SHIT, FUCK, HHHMFFFMFFF, HOYL SHI T............, I AM INCOHERENT IDEK WHAT TO SAY I HA VE NOTHING, I HAVE RISING FEEFLINGS IN MY THROA, I KNOW THIS FANDOM IS HALF BURIED INTO THE GROUND BUT ID EFC, IDEC IF TWINENIE IS THE ONLY ONE WHO READS THIS ITS FOR TWINENIE ANYWAY IM JUST SCREAMING, M/M, MEIN PRECIOUS TWINENIE, T IM GONNA CRY, THE WORLD IS BEAUTIFUL RN, THIS IS FOR MEIN TWINENIE, THIS SHIP SHOULD BE MORE POPULAR, also this is more fubuki centric than anything like, his feelings towards gouenji buT FITE ME ?? ??? FIGHT ME
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 18:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5137457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charkbites/pseuds/charkbites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some say the world will end in fire / Some say in ice.</p><p>Fubuki thinks he hadn't ever had a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of(f) Balance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterdesu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterdesu/gifts).



> this is dedicated to the wonderful, lovely @winterrrrr !  
> you are amazing whispers, super kirakira suteki and super capable and lovable. i hope this is to your liking ( even though, after i reread it today, it seemed super disgusting omf ._. i cringed i cant believe this ) but yeah !! i hope it's still ok weeps  
> thank you for everything so far www OvO +*+*+

Gouenji, Fubuki realises, is like spitting fire.

He is like rising magma; a slow but strong build up beneath the ground, unnoticeable by humans as his passion accumulates silently behind his quiet, intense gazes, sharp looks that take everyone by surprise and forcefully snatches the breaths of people around him. He has a kind of charm that not many -- if anyone at all -- can deny. It’s the reason why even Endou had been so taken with Gouenji, he thinks, even though Endou has all the charm in the world as well. But it’s different, somehow. Endou is light, hope, bursts of starlight streaming into everyone’s lives even in dire circumstances. Endou is a constant, sturdy presence that allows his teammates to rely on him without any hesitance.

Gouenji, on the other hand, comes suddenly. Gouenji comes unexpected, a slamming force that leaves people helpless to his feelings, leaving them no time to do anything but just  _accept_  him. Talent, wiseness, care behind an indifferent mask, an absolutely unconditional love for those who have earned it -- Scowls of rejection shift into comfortable familiarity and codependence along the way,  _always,_  and there exist many who admire him, respect him, love him.

Fubuki is one of them.

He has to admit -- Atsuya had not been the only one who felt a twinge of distaste for the supposed ace striker of Raimon at first. When Gouenji had not been there,  _Fubuki_  had, but at the time it hadn’t seemed to matter.  _Gouenji’s our ace, Gouenji’s amazing, if only we had Gouenji here._ Everywhere they went, it had been  _Gouenji, Gouenji_ , and it had struck something deep within him; within them.

Fubuki had not liked it.

He remembers the feeling -- remembers the thoughts.  _If he is so important, and so needed, why is he not here. If he is so strong, so invincible,_ ** _why is he not here_** _?_

Nothing back then had made sense. But he hadn’t pursued it -- he couldn’t, wouldn’t.  _It’s none of my business,_ he would repeat, even though he never could deny the curiosity, the frustration, the wonder, the painful thoughts of why it had seemed like he could never surpass someone who hadn’t even been there.

He knows now, though. Gouenji is not replaceable. He realised the moment they had met; an inextinguishable fire residing in onyx orbs, wild, fueled by feelings, yet strangely controlled. A tightness to his lips when he had regarded his teammates, a quiet  _sorry_ , a strong  _I’m here now._  He had not said anything, and yet --  _yet,_  Fubuki recalls, he had bloomed smiles of relief across their side of the field, had set off an infinite amount of spark in their teammates’ eyes, an insurmountable energy present in Endou’s previously worn out gaze, bringing light, scattering it all over.

His heart had lurched painfully,  _longingly._

He had craved something like that with his team. Fubuki idly wonders if that’s where it had all begun falling apart -- when it had hit him painfully hard that  _that’s_  what being an ace is all about. The flawless lies he had carved with Atsuya, the strong denial they had submerged themselves in, ignoring the looming, unavoidable tragedy, brushing off the ‘ _are you okay_ ’s and instead thrilling themselves with the ‘ _Fubuki is so amazing_ ’s. The compliments, the dependence, the ‘ _I’m counting on you_ ’s, they had needed it. Needed it, wanted it, desperately. But the perfect lie that they had been living -- cracking like mirror shards the moment Gouenji had stepped into their lives, their  _life,_  all fiery passion and burning wishes. ( He had always wanted to be perfect. Perfect, perfect, always chasing after the notion of it. And they had immersed themselves in a perfect lie, but Gouenji had taken away the only perfect thing that he has ever managed. )

Something tight had wound itself around his heart.

Falling in love with Gouenji, though, had been -- still is -- surprisingly easy. Fubuki cannot help but have an inkling that everyone has at least fallen a little bit in love with Gouenji before. He has the kind of impassive, cool face that makes girls swoon ( even if, Fubuki is the one who has a way with words, with expressions, with his smiles ) and no one can ever miss him when he’s around. The slicked up hair, the zigzag eyebrows, the showy hiassatsus, the orange knee-socks. What about him does not attract attention?

He teases cooly. Always with the barest hint of a smirk playing on his lips and a well-hidden glint of playfulness. Not many would be able to take notice of it, would not be able to make it past his poker face and stony gaze, but those who do would find themselves on the receiving end of his quiet teasing. Somehow, it brings immense relief -- reminds Fubuki that Gouenji, like them, is a ( not quite ) normal teenager with feelings, capable of joking around with his friends; it reassures Fubuki that Gouenji is not growing up too fast, not becoming jaded from all the things he has been through that might have destroyed Fubuki himself, if he had been in Gouenji’s position. ( And later, much much later, he would think back on this and feel glad that at least Gouenji had had some time to have fun, at least Gouenji had had the time of his life with the people who had mattered -  _matters_  to him, before adult life had come pressing down on his shoulders, before slicked up hair came running down with streaks of blue in some strands, and crooked smirks became painfully forced scoffs. )

Gouenji’s smiles, the soft and unguarded kind, are formed from a mere twitch of his lips upward; often he does not notice it himself, coming sub-consciously, but Fubuki makes sure to trace the outline of the smile whenever he can. With his eyes, a determined set of grey irises that commit the gentle curl of lips into an unforgettable memory. Then, after, with his fingers -- mapping with a featherlike touch, skittering fingers that intertwine the feel of Gouenji’s most genuine smile with his heart, so that he’ll always be able to remember, to reminiscence fondly whenever he wants, so that he’ll never be able to forget.

Even after that, though, he pursues the expression with his lips -- tender pressure in an attempt to take the smile for himself; selfish, so selfish, but he wants,  _needs_  to keep something that precious within him, safely locked inside himself where no one can even think to take it away. Over and over, he inhales Gouenji’s breaths, gives Gouenji a part of himself in exchange every time their chests rise and fall. He accepts Gouenji for who he is, accepts everything about Gouenji: he accepts the quiet laughter, accepts the rare, surprised grins when something in particular makes onyx hues light up like the sun, accepts all the ignited feelings, accepts himself melting for the adolescent before him, accepts the care and the love and  _Gouenji,_  and Fubuki does not just accept him, no. He wants him, craves him, loves him, falls for him repeatedly over the years, feels his heart bloom like a budding flower before withering away in a stagnant period of their relationship. But he never stops being in love -- The seeds are scattered and planted so deep inside him, he thinks he will never be able to get rid of them.

Not that he even wants to, or would ever want to, really. He doesn’t want what bit of Gouenji he can keep inside of him gone. It is evidence that Gouenji has made a home for himself in Fubuki’s heart, evidence that they are so pathetically deeply in love with each other that even when they are young and fumbling, Fubuki burns alongside Gouenji, and lets callous, rough, but awfully  _gentle_  hands piece him back together with so much patience that something in him just gives in, gives out. He hopes that these feelings will last, hopes they will continue to stumble together until their hairs turn completely white and they crack jokes about how the original colours had always resembled one of snow, anyway.

Fubuki remembers asking Gouenji once, when lean fingers had been tangled in spiky locks, washing out the gel and letting the soft strands cascade down tanned shoulders as he pressed close and shuddered. Winter had never been kind to him, he recalls musing, as he had mentally tried to absorb the other’s natural warmth. And oh, he remembers --  _Gouenji-kun, why are you here?_

Even now, he thinks,  _knows_  that Gouenji is made for the world. Gouenji is a volcanic eruption that blows all coherent thoughts from his mind, picks apart the ice in his heart and makes Fubuki love with fervor; a constant sizzling inside that serves as a steady reminder that it is Gouenji who makes his chest ache with fondness, and no one else. It is Gouenji who finally provides the warmth that he had been seeking out for years -- Gouenji had never babied him. Gouenji had worried, in his own way, has always worried, but never had he asked Fubuki to rest, to stop, to still. Instead, in his greatest time of need, Gouenji had probed, asked, encouraged, tried to motivate in his own way --  _don’t stop, keep trying, don’t give up._  Fubuki loves his teammates: they care, they’re kind people who worry for his wellbeing, but Gouenji ... he cares  _differently._

When Fubuki had been breaking apart from inside out, cracks deepening past the surface of his icy heart, Gouenji had slammed a ball straight into his gut, stare cold and furious as if Fubuki’s breakdown had severely angered him, made him seethe in disappointment and heartache and  _why,_  he had communicated with his eyes,  _why do you care, why, whywhywhy._

But Gouenji -- Gouenji had only stared, lips moving and telling him things that Fubuki only vaguely registered in his ears, because those mysterious orbs he had always so adored -- still adores -- had been telling a different story altogether, stringing words that could not be said out loud.

_You are not perfect. You’re not perfect, never was, never is going to be, but that’s okay. We make up for each other’s flaws. We are your teammates, trust us,_ **_trust me._ **

He had trusted. Fubuki thinks it’s one of the best decisions he’s ever made in his life.

Sometimes, he still wonders.  _Gouenji-kun, why are you here?_ It’s something that never quite leaves his mind. But each time, Gouenji merely turns to gaze at him intently, sloshing the water in the tub like mini tidal waves; crumpling the bedsheets with absolute ease. He searches Fubuki’s eyes and grasps his hand so tightly as if trying to mold their bones together, that Fubuki can only let his breath catch helplessly, stuttering words fluttering and tickling his throat, because he cannot say them, and they would not come out.

But the words Gouenji says are a soft murmur that float trapped between the bathroom walls, a quiet tone that is meant only for the two of them to hear. They are words from a meaningful poem that Fubuki sometimes reads when he has self-doubts, when he is too down to just simply shove his problems aside. Ice, he thinks, mulls over it silently, freezes everything over in its path. Fire, on the other hand, warms the soul from inside out. He cannot help but have jolting thoughts that catch even himself off guard, at times -- He does not want to freeze Gouenji over. He is absorbing Gouenji’s generosity, absorbing Gouenji’s heat, and taking Gouenji’s ardor for his own.

But  _it’s not like that_ , Gouenji would always insist, lips tugging down in a frown as he reaches up to flick Fubuki’s forehead.  _The world without ice would be tilted off balance. People need ice. I need you. You mess me up, Fubuki, you tilt me off balance -- but you are also my balance. You anchor me. Do you get it?_

He does not. He does not, but he is soothed nonetheless, and his heart caves a little bit more for the flame striker leaving scorching evidence of himself all over Fubuki’s world. There is so much he wants to say, so much he wants to tell Gouenji. An infinite number of  _thank you_ s _,_ a boundless number of  _I love you_ s _._ Sometime soon, though, sometime later, Fubuki thinks -- hopes that he can one day say:

_I get it now, Gouenji-kun._

_I finally get it._  


* * *

 

“  _Some say the world will end in fire,_

_Some say in ice._

_From what I've tasted of desire_

_I hold with those who favor fire._

_But if it had to perish twice,_

_I think I know enough of hate_

_To say that for destruction ice_

_Is also great_

_And would suffice._  "

**Author's Note:**

> kiss kiss fall in love :' )  
> i hope you enjoyed this twinenie


End file.
